Completed Greatness comes at a cost

[Afanas]

The inner city of Alliria was a sight to behold with its sprawling architecture dominated by private houses owned by various merchants and buildings of every kind of guild a man could possibly conceive. Although the outer city was, rather clean and orderly as far as the global scale was concerned, its splendor paled in comparison to its richer counterpart.

It made Afanas question the wealth distribution between the two portions, for the denizens of the outer city outnumbered those of the inner city several times over.

Afanas stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of colorfully dressed merchants and guildsmen. His wide-brimmed traveler's hat, floor-sweeping maroon cape, and knee-high boots made him look…unsavory at worst and unfriendly at best. They earned him a few sidelong glances, to which he responded in kind with a series of thin, mirthless smiles. He wasn't the rude sort, you see, but he rarely smiled wide enough to show teeth for the fear of accidentally flashing his jagged fangs at unsuspecting bystanders.

He entered the first tavern he could find, having to bend at his knees just enough to keep his forehead from banging against the top of the doorframe. One of the barmaids gawked at him. He didn't feel offended, not in the slightest. He knew himself to be of towering stature. In the past, people went as far as to ask if he were sporting high heels and whether he wore the cloak for the sole purpose of concealing these height-extensors.

Afanas spied an unoccupied table, languidly sauntered over to it, pulled up a chair, sat down on it, and prayed that the wooden frame wouldn't collapse under the weight of his brawn and gear. Once certain that he was, in fact, not going to topple over, the male quickly discarded his hat and the cumbersome piece of fabric that was his cloak.

Suddenly, he was the menacing shadow rider no more. Sharp and angular features graced his countenance, but there was a certain boyish quality to him, an unexplainable softness infecting his dark eyes. They shimmered like twin onyx stones behind a net of loose bangs. His inquisitive gaze swept over the patrons once, twice.

Nobody suspicious in sight, nobody to cause him trouble. He could relax, unmolested, for once.
His face, its skin the hue of bleached bone, upturned towards the reluctant barmaid.

"Wine, please. Something sweet, fruity, if you have it. I'm not looking to get drunk," he intoned, feigning ignorance. It was his desire to avoid sounding...posh.

 

[Urberus]

The door to the tavern groaned open, hardly heard amid the hubbub, and a wizened orc shambled inside. He leaned on a gnarled staff and an exotic, large-eared monkey sat on his shoulder, making grabs at the hats and drinks of people the orc passed.

The orc spotted Afanas and made a beeline for him. Which is to say, he stopped here and there before eventually coming to sit across from the wiry not-quite-man, not-quite-elf.

Rheumy blue eyes squinted at Afanas.

“Mhm. You need a purpose,” announced the orc suddenly, pulling a discolored hand marred by chemical burns from the folds of a voluminous robe to withdraw a pipe and some pipe weed from his belt. The satchel at his belt tinkled, like glass vials knocking together. “What is it you do?”

The monkey glared down from its perch, watching with beady eyes.

 

[Afanas]

Urberus
Afanas' gaze fell upon the orc, his slanting eyes regarding him with superficial interest. He studied the alchemist intently and then did something he hadn't done in a while: he summoned an earnest smile, compelling the corners of his lips to stretch and curl like flesh curtains until they no longer obscured his tar-black gums, their darkness offset only by the pearly fangs, each as sharp as a dagger, glittering wickedly in the low illumination.

"Urberus, right? I've heard of you. In fact, I think I've even seen you in passing the last time I visited the city of sorcery. A pity that I didn't have enough time to strike up a proper conversation with a man of your academic prowess."

It was true. Years have passed since he last stepped a foot in Elbion. Back then, he was still paying for private tutelage in an effort to hone his arcane skills. Alas, the monotony brought upon by city life got the better of him. He grew increasingly bored and left without as much as a parting word. In truth, he desired to return at some point but kept postponing the ordeal. Immortality gave him certain leeway there. He could spend his time as he saw fit.

"You speak of purpose, Urberus. Do you think me aimless? Do I strike you as a man who strayed off the course? Alas, to answer your question, I've been many things: a thief, a pirate, a monster hunter. And now? Now I'm a glorified sellsword for whoever can cash out enough coin to enlist my services."

Afanas offered his outstretched hand to the grizzled orc. To call it a hand was generous, perhaps, seeing as it more closely resembled the talon of a raptorial bird. The digits appeared too long, too sinewy to have belonged to a human, and each was tipped with a singular lacquered claw.

 

[Urberus]

Urberus’ brows rose in mild surprise.

The monkey shrieked at the outstretched hand, fangs bared.

“Oh hush, Chime. Do you not see a friend?” Urberus shooed the monkey back, then took svelte offered hand in his own and shook firmly.

He smiled, a kindly twinkle in those eyes.

“Wonderful to meet you, would that we had encountered each other in Elbion. I might have shown you my shop .” He released the hand and went back to stuffing the pipe weed into the bowl and prepping a light.

“So, now we know what you do, but why do you it? Ambition? Greed? Rote force of habit? What makes you… you, monsignor?”

 

[Afanas]

Afanas blinked, long lashes fluttering over the twin stygian pools that were his irises. He brought one clawed digit to his lower lip, eyebrows knitting together in contemplation. He hadn't given that particular inquiry much thought. Why did he do the things he did? To stay alive? It was only natural, right? But no, that wasn't a proper answer. His desires extended beyond mere perseverance.

He appreciated the finer things in life, the flexibility and the freedom brought upon by his occupation as well as his peculiar heritage. The very thought of settling down prompted his stomach to flip.

He shook himself out of the reverie and squeezed the orc's hand. For a second, he feared that his lackluster nerves would neglect to hold him back and that he'd end up accidentally grinding the old man's appendage into paste. No such horror came to pass, thankfully, and Afanas breathed a sigh of relief, a silent prayer to whatever higher power he held himself beholden to.

He didn't enjoy being blindsided like this, not one bit. It left him feeling almost bashful. He was no more a boy than Urberus himself.

"I am a man unchained and unburdened, Urberus; much of what I do is motivated by my desire to stay that way. I seek power and knowledge to amuse myself, but they are just as much leveraging tools meant to aid me in retaining my freedom in this messed-up world of ours as they are means of enriching the eternal life that I've unwittingly been blessed with."

 

[Urberus]

“Mmmm,” Urberus mused, the deep creases around his eyes crinkling.

He took a moment to light his pipe and give it a few puffs until smoke dithered out in a slow, lingering cloud.

The orc squinted at Afanas through the haze.

“And are you? Free, that is.”

Another puff.

“What if I told you the merchant council were looking to start funding another band of mercenaries. Have you ever thought of being more than a sellsword?”

A commander of sellswords. My my.

 

[Afanas]

The serving girl returned, carrying a pitcher of wine. She lowered the pitcher and two large glasses on the table, but not before furtively glancing at both Afanas and his orcish conversation partner. Afanas shot her a look, THE look, producing two gold coins from his pocket. He tossed them at the girl, who aptly caught and pocketed the little discs of precious metal. People were curious, too curious, actually. Afanas valued what little privacy he could afford, and those two coins would be enough to buy the girl's silence for the time being.Shadowed in the pitcher, the liquid held the hue of a welcoming deep brown. Anafas poured it, and, as he did so, the wine shifted to the deepest of reds, shining like liquid caramel while gradually filling the twin glass containers.

"Drinks are on me," he declared, bringing the rim of the glass to his mouth, tilting and draining it in one long gulp.

The chilled nectar hit his sensitive palate, sliding down his gullet and settling in the pit of his stomach. The sweetness lingered, prompting Afanas to lick his lips.

"Yours is an idea I could get behind. I have some experience coordinating men on both land and sea. It isn't beyond my scope of ability to whip a bunch of mortal condottieres into shape."

"Unless…" His eyes narrowed, "…you are suggesting that I surround myself with those of my kind, my cadre."

 

[Lorenzo Vitale]

While Urberus and Afanas were having an intense one on one meeting with a focus on career planning, Lorenzo was in the back conducting a negotiation.

"We can't do a thirty percent increase. We don't have that kind of margin."

"I'm not here to run your business Yeshaun. I'm here to provide protection. I can guarantee you that you'd rather be dealing with me than the Spadaros, or the Kalashnikovs. Or the Brucht for that matter." Lorenzo nearly spat at the words. A bestial alliance of Orcs, goblins, and trolls without class or substance. They had starting to try to muscle in on Spadaro and Vitale turf. Lorenzo wanted to simply snuff them out, but was told to stand down and let them soften up the Spadaros. A sound plan, but one that annoyed him.

"We have been greatful for the Vitale's protection. We've been very happy to be without incident these years. But thirty percent in a year is simply more than I can afford. We could work our way if it were three, perhaps even two years, but one year is too great a shock. Surely we can meet in the middle. Offer something to bridge the gap?" Yeshaun bargained. Lorenzo sighed and stood, heading over to the man's liquor cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. He nosed the glass, then took a sip.

"How often does your staff turn over?" Lorenzo asked. The owner's eyes looked down at the table and his face went pale.

"Pretty quickly. People come and go, we need hands and not every hand works out. We probably hire and fire a half dozen a month at least." He responded.

"I'll make a deal with you then Yeshaun. We'll go from thirty percent to eighteen, but every third person you fire you tell us their address before you do it. We'll give instructions on the when and how." Lorenzo could see the pit forming in the stomach of Yeshaun.

"I assume you want the women?" Yeshaun asked in a low voice. Their heads always went in the same direction.

"Doesn't matter." Lorenzo replied. "Do we have a deal?" The tavern owner looked grimly at his desk, then at the wall.

"Yes, we have a deal." The two sealed the deal with a shake of hands. Nothing the Vitales did was ever written down of course. It made logistics somewhat difficult, but was better than the alternative.

Lorenzo left the back office of the establishment and made his way to the common area of the tavern. It was there he found the source of the stench he'd been feeling on the back of his neck. Another vampire. Definitely not the Vitale's strain. His was not the only clan operating in Alliria of course, but this was Vitale turf. What was he doing here with an Orc academic? Lorenzo took a seat at the bar and ordered another glass of wine. It seemed it was time to scout.

Afanas Urberus

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

Raucous shouts suddenly erupted from a table in the tavern, crowded with onlookers.

“Sorry, looks like your lucks run out, Charles,” Cosimo said through a self-satisfied smirk as he swept the winnings into a pile before him.

The Horned One known as Lucky Chuck slammed his fists into the table, causing those nearby to flinch, “The Maiden’s Suite? Again?”

“Guess I - oh” Cosimo winced as the bastard seized his wrist in one massive hand and started rifling through his sleeve, “I beg your pardon,” Cosimo scoffed. Sweat beaded down his brow.

Thank the moons he hadn’t been cheating.

This time.

Chuck found a dagger suddenly pressing up against the offending hand.

“Move it or lose it,” Cosimo hissed between his teeth, “your choice.”

The Minotaur snorted in derision, stood abruptly, and stormed out of the tavern with a clop-clop of his hooves.

Well. At least if he mugs me in the alley later I’ll hear him coming.

“Drinks on me, gentlemen,” the man stood and swept toward the bar. He came staggering back with a tankard but misjudged the amount he had had to drink - or maybe it was the hashish he’d smoked earlier. Ah well, he ended up stumbling into a table with a knife-faced elf and an old, haggard orc with an ugly monkey. Ale sloshed all over the elf.

“Damn, sorry about that, chap.” He squinted, swaying on his feet, “That is one ugly monkey.”

 

[Afanas]

Cosimo Imiliane Lorenzo Vitale

Afanas' ears twitched. He felt the familiar weight of eyes on the back of his neck, eyes that, for whatever reason, made his skin crawl and bunch up. If he had any body hair, it would've stood up, broken into gooseflesh. He elected to turn, just enough so to make it seem like he were gazing at the bar, rather than its many colorful occupants.

His peripheral vision picked up on a redheaded man that exuded a peculiar kind of miasma one would expect from an undead or curse-bearer. It was all but wafting from him, radiating in waves the rest of the patrons couldn't detect. Afanas felt tempted to turn on his witch sight to scrutinize the stranger more thoroughly but was abruptly pulled from this train of thought when half a tankard of cold ale hit his chest and midriff. He blinked, then whipped his head in Casimo's direction, one brow cocked while he regarded the man with a mixture of thinly-veiled annoyance and tempered curiosity.

He eyed the visibly inebriated stranger up and down, paying close attention to their body language.

A worse man would've likely stood up and socked Cosimo across the face, breaking his jaw, perhaps, but Afanas didn't see it fit to injure someone over an honest mistake, especially someone drunk to the point of impaired motor function.

"It is quite alright, I assure you. The suit washes easily. Gods know that it has seen worse days. Chimera blood is a bitch to get rid of, you see…" Afanas trailed off.

On the second glance, it became increasingly obvious that Cosimo was one wrong step away from dousing them a second time with whatever alcohol still remained in the tankard.

"Why don't you settle down for a bit, friend? At least until your legs return to a more…functional state. I'd feel responsible if I didn't warn you and you ended up slipping and splitting your tailbone on the hardwood floor."

 

[Lorenzo Vitale]

Lorenzo's attention became divided as he heard the scuffle between the Minotaur and the gambler. He was surprised at the adroitness of the the drunkard over the minotaur. The fixer thought the minotaur could probably take him if it actually came to blows, but it seemed he was a coward. Perhaps he was simply waiting to ambush the human later. It mattered little in truth, but the skill of the dagger despite the obvious inebriation spoke to an instinct that could be useful. Perhaps a potential recruit later.

As the drunkard made his way over to the table sporting the other Vampire and the orc. Lorenzo believed in fate, and listening to it closely when there were too many coincidences. Lorenzo took a sip of his wine and brushed his hair over his ear. If Urberus or Afanas were perceptive enough and looking his way they might have noticed a disguised somatic component of a simple college magic spell, greatly reinforcing the strength of his hearing. He continued to drink his wine, and asked for a plate of bread and butter, but kept a careful ear on the table.

As fate would have it, something was happening. He just needed to find out what.

 

[Urberus]

“I am afraid I have not the faintest clue what you mean,” Urberus replied, with knowing, congenial look.

The interruption and arrival of a third abruptly marked the end of the tete-a-tete, for Urberus rose.

“Hello young man, please, have my seat. Myy ugly monkey and I were just leaving - oh leave it Chime, don’t rip the poor boy’s face off.”

Urberus shooed off another monkey attack, then looked at Afanas.

“I’ll convey your receptiveness to the merchants. The composition of your band is up to you. I will be in touch by way of pigeon. Good evening, Afanas.”

With a sidelong glance at the drunkard, Urberus hobbled out of the tavern.

 

[Afanas]

The sigh that escaped Afanas' thin lips was slow, as if his brain needed that time to process what had happened. Like a slight spring breeze, it was soft and gentle, almost lost against the drone of the nearby patrons.

"I shan't forget this kindness, Urberus. If it weren't for your timely…interjection, I doubt I would've come by this tidbit of information."

Afanas trained his eyes on Urberus' back as he left. In truth, he felt disappointment settling in the pit of his gut like a heavy stone. He wanted to beat himself up for not finding a way to prolong the conversation with the veteran alchemist. Urberus was a clever one, clever and resourceful, having forgotten more about the craft than most of his contemporaries would ever know.

Afanas refilled his empty glass, emptying nearly half of the remaining wine into it. His scattered attention returned to Cosimo, dark orbs bearing down on the man like a set of anvils. He hoped, for the sake of Cosimo's continued well-being, that it wasn't his ingress that caused the old orc to depart so abruptly.

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

The drunkard in question twinkled his fingers at the retreating orc’s angry monkey, then slid into the seat. He sipped some more of the ale and grimaced.

“Shit’s piss, you know. Is that wine? Next bottle is on me. Call me Cosmo.”

He looked up over the rim of his tankard, pale stare the pallor of a summer storm meeting a dark and hungry gaze of the stranger. Hungry, the way a pack of wolves might be hungry. And Cosimo the only deer around.

He pointed his tankard at Afanas and winked, a broad smirk tugging at his lips, natural and easy, but hinting at darker humors. Something cold and twisted dwelled within that gray gaze.

“Hey now, enough of the fuck me eyes, mm? Afanas, was it? Well I feel like half an ass bumping into you that way. New to Alliria?”

 

[Afanas]

"Quite. Not enough dwarves to be found in Alliria for one to expect a proper ale. I grew up in the mountains and got used to dwarven brews. Every time humans or elves try to replicate the process, it ends up producing something that tastes an awful lot like dirty rag water."

Afanas kept sipping. The wine's full-bodied aroma eased him as he sank into its all-too-familiar embrace. He couldn't get drunk, not in the traditional sort of way, at least. His inhuman body metabolized toxins so efficiently that he could catch himself munching on dart frogs and get off with an equivalent of a mild food poisoning. Sometimes he wondered what being drunk felt like, how it would be to find himself embroiled in the same sort of state Cosimo was in.

He quickly squished the thought and began to absentmindedly fiddle with the large sapphire pendant hanging off his long neck. Its frame was pure platinum, with the polished gemstone placed smack dab in the middle of it. The rim was chased with smaller diamonds and carefully sculpted in the likeness of evil beasts.

"Afanas, yes, you got that part right. As you have already assumed, I'm not from these parts. Truth be told, I was no more expecting to run into Urberus than I was to have a stranger's company on my first visit to your little corner of the world."

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

“We’re all strangers here, friend.”

A wan, empty look belied Cosimo’s wry smile. Though his drifting attention soon focused on the medallion hanging around the other man’s neck.

He didn’t wear any such jewelry himself, except for a signet ring. Not over here. A good way to get gutted in an alley and he already had at least one frustrated Minotaur in line for that particular prospect, he was sure.

Cosimo wore a simple black overcoat above a white tunic and simple hosiery.

The signet ring in question bore a crest: two swans posed vigilant.

“Beautiful piece. So. What brings you here?”

 

[Lorenzo Vitale]

Lorenzo’s order of bread and butter came. He sipped some more wine and began to taste the crunch of the bread. Lorenzo’s ear’s piked at Cosimo Imiliane ’s question. It was the business of the hour. There was little way to tell if the man would answer truthfully, but it would surely grant some information. Hopefully information enough for Lorenzo to make a decision.

The ball was in Afanas ‘s court.

 

[Afanas]

Afanas caught Cosimo stealing glances at the pendant. He prodded the brilliantly smooth sapphire sphere with one black, lacquered claw, prompting it to rattle against his brawny chest.

It was Afanas' turn to smile. The corners of his mouth stretched, tugging at his thin lips once he registered the drunkard's question. His fangs flashed, even if only for a split second, sprouting from the pitch-black flesh of his gums.

At least Cosimo's inquiry was simple to answer. Urberus, on the other hand? A far more ponderous creature. Moreso than himself, Ananas feared.

"Work, of course. The original ideas was to come here, scout any potential employers and offer my services to the highest bidder. I've done my fair share of odd, precarious jobs in the past. There's hardly anything I'll shy away from."

Many a thing he was: a mercenary, monster hunter, a bandit, even a privateer…until he figured out that being surrounded by open sea as far as the eye could reach didn't bode well for his mental well-being in the long run.

"The old orc you saw earlier, Urberus, told me that the merchant council intended to assemble a new group of mercenaries but didn't reveal why. Something about scarce manpower, I presume. Makes a man wonder if the city guard is becoming inefficient."

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

“Oh you could say they’re inefficient alright,” Cosimo snickered, leaning back in his seat and kicking up his boots onto the table in rebellion of common etiquette.

“Corrupt as all hell, mostly bought by the same criminals they’re supposed to protect against. So if an army ever comes knocking again, well, I wouldn’t be surprised if that bunch of turncoats don’t sell out the whole city.”

He shrugged.

“That’s why the merchant princes keep their own private armies. One even has a whole band of high elf mages on retainer, can you believe it? Impressive, but ungodly expensive. Sounds like a good business for you though.”

The lad arched an irreverent brow at Afanas, his eyes glancing at the man’s black gums and grimacing in obvious distaste.

“You may want to see a barber-surgeon while you’re here, we’ve got some of the best in the world - they’ll fix up your teeth.”

 

[Afanas]

"I fear it would do me little good to see one. My... peculiar oral structure has served me well over the last dozen or so decades. And certainly, it's nothing that contemporary medical practice could fix. Not that it needs fixing..." He trailed off, tucking a few wayward strands of wavy hair behind his over-enlarged earlobes.


Speaking of earlobes, Afanas was close to 100% positive that the ginger stranger was evesdropping on their little conversation. He couldn't be arsed to put an end to it, for he had nothing to hide. His intentions were transparent and for the most part, his conduct within legal boundaries. More often than not, it proved favorable to bend the letter of law to his advantage than outright break it, for the latter often resulted in unforeseen consequences.

"Ah, the city watch and I have something in common, you see. We both suck the life out of people to keep ourselves sustained, yet, I am far more judicious in my selection of victims than they are. Their ministrations, much like the club of a boreal marauder, are a rough-hewn and terrifying thing, apt to strike down anyone or anything in their viciniage"

Afanas took another swig of his wine, finding its sapor... deficient. He was getting hungry. The parasite latched onto his immortal quintessence all but badgered him, its gist crystal clear: feed me, I require nourishment.

Thankfully for Afanas, the thing wasn't a picky eater. Its primeval, almost hideous hunger could be slaked by the blood of man, beast or anything in between the two.

"Dare I say, I'm the lesser of two evils, by a longshot, if I could be considered evil at all."

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

"You suck the what? Ministrations of victims?" Carefree chuckle masking nervousness, Cosimo's swimming vision struggled to focus on the man in front of him.

"I didn't take you as a gigolo, a side hustle to your mercenary work? Let me know if you want introductions to the Madame at the Lily House. I am quite familiar with their uh . . .

He quaffed the last of his beer and smacked it back down on the table with a satisfying thunk.

"Practice."

 

[Lorenzo Vitale]

Lorenzo heard Afanas speak a plan of cashing in on the current offer from the Merchant Council. A privateer then? Lorenzo didn’t presume to have a full understanding of the creature’s machinations, but he was definitely a foreigner. A foreigner that liked to talk, and pontificate at that. He claimed many things, but was he just that, talk?

In any case, there were some introductions to be made. Lorenzo snapped his fingers and pointed at a bottle. The tavern wench manning the bar retrieved it, and Lorenzo gave her a grin and told her to take it off Yeshaun’s tab. She was confused, but Lorenzo left without issue and took the seat formerly occupied by Urberus.

“You’re welcome to bargain and find work as any other traveler, but you should know this area is under a different watch. If you’ve need I’d recommend going south of Vornstein’s smithy, or west of Madame Xun’s.” Lorenzo informed Afanas of borders. Cosimo Imiliane might not understand the entire subtext, but would under the two points made a significant portion of the city.

A pop rung through the table as the bottle’s cork was removed. Lorenzo poured the white wine to each member of the table, himself included. It was a symbol Afanas would know, that there was not blood to be taken here.

“To your good health and understanding stranger.”

 

[Afanas]

Afanas' brain buffered for a second. He blinked in rapid succession and finally opened his mouth to laugh. His laughter was full of warmth and life, a silent invitation of a man blessed with the gift of good humor.

It clashed with his pasty, angular countenance and the rest of his inhuman qualities. It made him seem more approachable, less of frigid glacier than most considered him to be at first glance. His resting bitch face didn't help the case.

Cosimo's joke softened the room, mocking as it may have been. In light of it, Afanas reached out, descending one dinner-plate-sized hand upon the man's shoulder, clasping it firmly.

"You are one thoroughly incorrigible individual, my good man."

Never a dull moment with this guy.

He shook his head playfully. Then, from his peripheral vision, he saw the ginger approaching, which snapped him out of it. Afanas unlatched himself from Cosimo, leaning back into his chair with his arms crossed under his chest, one finger drumming against his forearm.

The wooden frame creaked under him, swiftly reprimanding him for his lack of attentiveness. Whoever fashioned the furnishing didn't have people of Afanas' dimensions in mind.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd muster up the willpower to join us at the table. Had your daily fill of eavesdropping on strangers, I take it?"

Before Lorenzo could answer, he continued.

"I am not here to partake in one of your silly turf wars, if that is what you are not-so-subtly hinting at."

Anafas' mood took a knee-jerk shift with Lorenzo's arrival. The tender joy died, leaving a veneer of cold insouciance in its wake. He didn't come all the way from the Spine, on foot, no less, just to pick a fight, but if the stranger egged him, there'd be a hell to pay.

 

[Cosimo Imiliane]

The slender Allirian man’s brow wrinkled at Afanas’ reaction.

So he wasn’t joking about sucking the life out of people. Just what exactly is he?

Not human, certainly. But maybe not an elf either.

Another man joined them, unprompted, remarkable for his beauty and poise, flaming red hair aside. Cosimo arched a brow.

Belle of the ball, this Afanas.

The newcomer brought a jug of wine, so as far as Cosimo was concerned he was thrice welcome. He took a sip of the white immediately, enjoying the crisp, clear taste with delicate notes of peach. Then the other two started talking about a turf war.

Gods below, are they part of the syndicate? I hope he’s not here to collect on my debts…

He should have listened when his friends told him not to take an off-the-books loan. Now there were henchmen on the roam ready to break his legs if he didn’t cough up coin by the end of the month.

Or feed me to their four hundred pound otter overlord.

“I believe Afanas is just visiting…” the raven haired boy turned to the red-haired arrival, “Wonderful vintage, by the way. Do I know you?” He should. He knew most of the families of any note in the city and something about this man’s bearing… well, Cosimo thought he may have met him once. “The Soirée of Moons, maybe? At the Mercuttios?”

 

[Crowne Garisi]

A man walked through the town towards the tavern, scruffy haired and dressed in seemingly well made steel armor with golden trim. Skin fair and likely normal for humans, he would approach the door and push, the hand beneath an illusory gauntlet moving the door aside so the man could enter. He would wait by the entrance until the door audibly closed, taking steps to sit at a table and raising his hand in what he had picked up as the universal sign for "I want a drink". The stuff would probably be crap, but whatever.

The tavernkeep walked up, seemingly spotting something odd just before getting to his table. Crowne followed his gaze and noticed quite the group sitting a bit away. There was a man with human ears, so the vampire deigned to guess he was one, and the other two were abnormally beautiful men. Gray-skinned, too. Well, that wasn't too great. If any of them saw through his disguise and made trouble, he wouldn't get his drink. He felt no connection to either of them, meaning they were not his brethren, but then again, why would they be?

He grimaced a bit at himself, smacking the table with his hand in anger. What was the usefulness of hoping for a thing that would never occur? Just then, he realized he had left the bartender waiting. "Apologies. Please give me a beer." He said, speaking in a far more sophisticated tone than he had learned people expected from someone of his stature. His "education" as a pawn of Kalarus had been one that despite its more accurate description of torture had given him at least a basic understanding of four languages and made him a far stronger killer.

Well, that was all behind him now. In his now hidden pack he could always feel the Book of Keys rattling around, but it wasn't as though anyone would ever get to read it. Just then his ears perked up and he turned to the group speaking nearby, specifically the blonde one. "You know where to find work in this place?" He queried, hoping that his eavesdropping wouldn't piss them off too much. A little after his question a drink arrived and he briefly turned to nod in thanks at the sound of mug hitting wood.

"Sorry, you were saying?" he added, sipping from his mug with eyes still fully on Lorenzo.

Lorenzo Vitale Afanas Cosimo Imiliane